Forgotten

“No problem.”

Twenty minutes later, Jamie has turned in the lab paper we’ll get back next week with a bright red B+ on top, and we’re gathering our things. I’m carefully sliding the dictionary back into my bag, trying not to let any photos loose.

“What are we doing for lunch?” Jamie asks, slinging her bag over her shoulder. Just then, I remember what I’m doing. I straighten up and look at my friend.

“Luke asked me to lunch today,” I say.

“Oh,” she says, sounding disappointed. I think I see a flash of something in her eyes. Annoyance? Jealousy? “That’s okay, I’ll go with Anthony.”

“Sorry, J.”

I notice then that Anthony is leaving in a hurry, and I wonder how she’ll really spend her lunch hour.

As I walk to meet Luke, my mind is on the photos. One photo, really. One person, specifically: my grandmother.

I can’t believe that I didn’t recognize her this morning. Now, I consider what that recognition means.

On one hand, I have an older, wiser role model who (presumably) loves me and might want to bake me cookies and braid my hair. Well, okay, just the cookies.

But on the other hand, my single future memory of her is the darkest one I’ve got: my grandmother is the older woman wearing the pretty beetle brooch at the funeral.

My brain twists and turns as I round the corner to the commons. I see Luke leaning against the far wall, bag dropped to the floor next to him. His eyes are cast down; he appears to be deep in thought. As soon as I wonder what he’s thinking about, his eyes are on mine. He smiles, pushes off the brick wall, and picks up his bag.

For some reason, my brain chooses that exact moment to figure it out. I stop halfway across the commons. A boy nearly collides with me. Luke looks confused.

The funeral.

Grandma.

Mom.

There is only one logical explanation. I don’t want to think it but the thought shoves its way to the front of the line anyway.

It’s Dad’s funeral.

My dad is going to die.

There.

Thought.

13

I am almost completely distracted by Luke by the time we make it through rows of student cars and reach his…

Minivan?

He laughs at my baffled expression at the sight of a car usually reserved for soccer moms. Apparently it was his soccer mom’s car before she replaced it with an oh-so-economical SUV.

As he starts the engine, Luke confirms that, yes, I’m still fine with going to his house for lunch instead of going out for pizza or something. Apparently his mother has taken his baby sisters shopping for new clothes in the city today.

Apparently Luke has baby sisters.

“How old are they?” I ask, looking around the van.

“Almost three,” Luke says. I screw up my face in concentration as I try to figure out the math.